The Leaden Echo
by NarcissisticNinny
Summary: You'll remember all this when I'm gone.


_One day I'll leave without ever really knowing you. You'll remember my big, dark eyes. The reproachful silences. The moans of anxiety as I slept. The nightmares you couldn't save me from. You'll remember all this when I'm gone._  
A. Perez Reverte - THE CLUB DUMAS

They were in Dick's apartment. In Jason's opinion, the apartment could have been nicer. Dick could live in a better place but chose not to. The area was shitty, but Dick chose it specifically in that area. That really wasn't the worst part of it either; it was kinda gross on the inside too. Jason wasn't exactly a clean freak, but he didn't ever leave his clothes, much less his uniforms and suits lying around the floor. Or forgotten boxes of Corn Flakes either.

Not that he ever had much time to think about it. Even with Jason grossed out by the mess, Dick just had to slide his arms around him and pull him in for a kiss, and just the like, Jason could forget about the state of his flat. He never really had too much time to dwell on other things with Dick pressed against him so there wasn't anything between them, especially when Dick groaned under him. Dick arched his back, moaning as his soft lips parted to let out breathy sighs and helpless noises. Dick curled a thigh over Jason's hip, arching up to meet his increasingly savage thrusts. He rocked into him hard, pounding him with enough force to earn creaking protests from the bed underneath them.

Goosebumps broke out on his arms and a fierce blush exploded on Dick's skin, a sign that he was that far gone in his desire. Jason liked him that way, when Dick struggled and failed to gain control. Dick's blunt nails dragged down Jason's back, and he murmured things against Jason's neck, soft lips on his throat. He looked a mess, his throbbing cock spilling pre-cum on his stomach, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He pressed in closer; enough that Dick's cock rubbed on his firm stomach, pushing into him. Jason wanted Dick to cry out his name. Dick did, showing no restraint when he _screamed_ as he hit orgasm.

It's that noise, those beautiful moans that sent Jason over the edge, his groin giving into pure pleasure as Jason spilled inside Dick's body, his orgasm tingling up the length of his spine, leaving his vision white. The body under him arched, and Dick let his head fall back on the pillows, black hair like silk spilling around him like a halo.

He recovered faster than Dick, pulling out and landing on the mattress next to Dick. Immediately, Dick recovered and curled on Jason's side, and Jason felt something dark and familiar tug at his chest, boil in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to push Dick away. Dick always did that, cuddle next to Jason, hold him tight like he was in love, but Jason knew better. It was Dick just being, well, Dick. Richard Grayson liked to cuddle. It didn't matter if it was next to a murderer, as everyone labeled him. Not that Jason cared. The day he cared for the people he killed he'll be damned.

But he let Dick sling his arm over his waist and fit his legs between Jason's, let him sigh deeply, his still rapid heartbeat pounding against Jason's side, long lashes fluttering closed. Later he would get up and leave, and Dick would pretend he was still asleep as Jason crept out of his apartment. He waited until he felt Dick's heartbeat start to slow and his body began to sag before he tried to carefully remove Dick's arms around him.

When he tried, Dick reached out, his hand wrapping around his wrist, pinched his eyebrows in the center of his forehead. Jason stared down at him, "What are you doing circus boy?"

The grip on his wrist tightened, Dick's vivid blue eyes staring up at him, pleading without words for him to stay.

Jason couldn't. For so many fucked up reasons, so many that he didn't dare explain. He couldn't stay with Dick, couldn't sleep by his side like they were a couple in love. Jason didn't sleep either, not really. Most nights were spent tossing on his mattress, being ripped awake by the nightmares that always came.

Sometimes it was the Joker and the crowbar, other times it was his coffin. It always involved dying, and Jason was sick of it. He certainly didn't want Dick to see that. "No," he said, more harshly than he originally intended. Looking at Dick's face, seeing all the emotion lurking in those eyes, he added, "Look at that, you frown just like your _daddy." _

He could run his mouth off; he was good at it. It kept most people distracted, and it helped distance him from others. He could run his mouth off, unfortunately, so could Dick. When they fought, it always got ugly. And it got _ugly. _

An angry Dick Grayson was a dangerous one. They yelled and fought until their throats were raw from the intensity of their screams and he left, leaving Dick to remember the nasty venomous words he had said. Jason went to his safe house, still wearing Dick's warmth on his skin, feeling more furious than ever, spite coursing through his veins. He went to his place, so angry at everything, so much that it physically hurt, at himself, at _fucking Dick_, because he could never just let Jason go.

It took him a long time before he was able to fall asleep.

When he did, he had nightmares.

Instead of worms and dirt and his own bloody fingers digging through earth to try to reach the surface, he had nightmares of something else. Someone else. He had dreamt of Dick, and he was the one dying, and Jason can't save him. He woke with his breath caught in his chest, choking, chest heaving. It was like he was drowning. His lungs grasped for air as tears flowed from his eyes, down his cheeks. The nightmare kept playing behind his eyes; it didn't matter that he had opened them.

Unconsciousness didn't always save him from the haunting memories that always surfaced to his mind like a scream in the dead of night.

* * *

The next time they slept together, it was in Jason's safe house. Jason had taken Dick inside, and he felt Dick stand by the window, silently observing the place while Jason walked to the center of the room, shedding his jacket. He turned, asking Dick with a smirk, "Bitching place, huh?"

Dick stared at the knives and his other blades neatly arranged on the walls, his blue eyes darting to his tea set on the table, along with his paperback copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. Dick stepped up to him and slid his arms around Jason's shoulders and kissed him, all tongue and nibbles to his lower lip. It wasn't long before they undressed each other, fingers tearing off each other's clothing, and Jason felt that familiar warmth from having Dick's hands on him, sliding over his skin, that thrill and excitement to have him naked and pressed against him.

It scared him how easily he could lose himself in that touch, in his kisses that were always so honest. There was always such a need to touch Dick, like his hands ached to feel the contours of his body, to hold him as he shook under his hands. He always got so fucking hard and came so good when he was with Dick. His body sang when they were skin to skin.

They fell together on the bed in a tangled heap, and Dick wrapped his thighs around him, bringing him in groin-to-groin. His full weight settled between Dick's legs, and Dick gasped, hands bunching in his hair, tugging hard as he clenched around him. His hands brushed over his shoulders, his jaw, his lips, whispering things in Jason's ear. Things Jason didn't know what to do with. Dick would never dare say those things out there, out on patrol, when they pretended to hate each other.

Jason could never figure out of he preferred his reassuring words and his whispered caresses or his loud ravenous cries. He always remembered both during his lonely nights, when he stayed up, pent up aggression getting the best of him. But then, Dick's words would come to his mind, smoothing over whatever rage he had. His shouts came to mind when he jerked off to thoughts of Dick's warm body, of the faces he made when he neared orgasm, and it was crazy how he always thought of Dick even when he wasn't around.

Dick's fingers settled over his lips, waiting for him to stay something back. He couldn't. Instead he kissed and sucked his fingertips, taking them between his lips, his hips moving faster between his spread thighs. Dick moaned, crying out so deliciously, Jason started to move faster, increasing the pace of his thrust until he brought them both to orgasm. Dick arched his back like the fucking contortionist that he was, making Jason worry that he would snap in half. But he cried out when he came, and Jason lived for that sound, for the noises Dick made.

Through the afterglow, they were side by side together on the semen stained mattress, neither saying anything about the smell or the mess, just lied there quietly. Dick sighed, turned to settle his head on his shoulder while his fingers caressed Jason's chest, running along his arm in a feather light touch. His fingers stroked up to touch his face, fingers ghosting over his features. His hand went up, to reach the snow-white strands of hair above Jason's eye. Dick stared at Jason's face, never averting his eyes.

Jason studied Dick's face, keeping his own expression ambiguous. Dick leaned in, kissing him, swallowing his questions. Their tongues melted together, and Dick's hand ran tenderly through his hair. Dick always kissed him like there were words behind it.

"You're clingy," he said when they broke the kiss.

"Shut up." Dick nuzzled closer, a frown on his lips and he inhaled his scent. "You should quit smoking."

"Fuck off Grayson," he bit back, though he wasn't nearly as irritated as he played to be.

"What did Bruce use to say?" Dick grinned against his skin, as if he knew Jason was just being impossible out of routine. "It'll stunt your growth."

"Yeah, because I'm so fucking short and skinny now."

"Good thing it didn't," Dick sighed contently, nuzzling into his broad chest. "You make a good pillow this way."

"Fuck off Dick, I can't sleep like this," he scowled in an attempt to hide how he really felt about Dick clinging to him when they were sticky with orgasm.

Dick held him closer. "Yes you can."

It was a poke in the fire. His words reached under his skin. It was annoying how Dick could do that. Jason lied in bed, chest heaving. He could handle an angry Dick, one who fights with him. He could handle most sides of him, even the side of Dick that liked to make terrible puns, he just couldn't handle the one who clung to him desperately, like he was afraid Jason was going to die again. Dick hugged him tight, the way he did when he wordlessly begged him not to go.

His entire body was rigid, but he forced himself to relax into Dick's tender embrace, and he fell asleep.

Jason woke up with a start, with Dick trying to calm him through it. Something terrible welled in the pit of his stomach when he realized he had he had been having a nightmare and woken Dick up when he screamed. Dick caressed his face, saying over and over again that it was okay, that everything was okay, he was awake, he was safe.

The hands on his cheek felt like shards of glass, cutting his skin. Dick's reassuring whispers in the dark clanged in his head, like he was getting kicked in with Dick's voice. It felt like his chest was collapsing and his blood ran cold. Jason wished so badly those warm palms on his skin could save him from the terror of his own screams. He bit down shouts because Dick's hands don't calm him. The nightmares clawed at his skin, dug under until fear was in his bones, something cold like ice crawling at his skin, invading every part of him.

He was so angry that he was that vulnerable in front of Grayson. He hated to think Dick was right when he said in a pleading voice to come back, that they needed him and he needed them. He wasn't able to sleep again after that.

The nightmare kept playing in his mind, images of his own autopsy playing, and he could clearly see the morticians placing half cut ping-pong balls under his eyelids to keep his eyes from opening suddenly when he was in his casket. He could see them washing beaten and burned body with preservatives. They even stitched his mouth shut, so when he woke, he couldn't even scream or cry out when he awoke inside his coffin.

Jason knew it couldn't be his own memories, he had been dead for that process, but he could see it all as if he had been alive through it all. He could see all of it. He even saw Bruce, Al, Barbara and Dick at his funeral, their eyes watching as he was lowered six feet under, though he wasn't sure if they were in fact there. He just wished they had mourned him enough to at least attend his funeral, since none of them had bothered to avenge him.

He lay in bed with Dick sleeping by his side, the traffic from out his window flooding into the bedroom. The stillness inside the apartment reminded Jason of the lack of peace in his soul and heart, and he so badly wished he could just lie there, happily listening to Dick breathe gently as he slept. He didn't move, didn't want to risk waking the other man.

Instead, he mutely clung to his despair, biting down all the things he wanted to tell Dick.

* * *

From then on out, he kept Dick the hell away from his safe house. He couldn't have Dick spending the night with him, couldn't have him seeing him thrash in bed from the nightmares that Dick couldn't save him from. No matter how much he tried.

It wasn't long before they met together again. There was too much pent up, sexual frustration between them. They fought all the time, and whenever they bumped heads, Jason wanted to simultaneously break Dick's nose and fuck him until he cried out his name. It was hard to keep his hands off Dick. He had wanted him since he first met him, as a horny teenager, when he first saw Dick's slutty Nightwing costume. Then there were the finger stripes, which was absolute _sin_. Dick had a knack for picking out the tightest outfits to wear, always showing off that perfect ass.

They came together, all blunt nails on firm muscle, haggard gasps and warm thighs. Low growls and throaty moans masked the noise of the protesting, creaking bed. There was teeth on throats, tongue on the pulse there, to know the other is alive. A fire building in Jason that Dick knew how to ignite.

He slipped into those divine curves, like his body depended on it. Dick titled his hips effortlessly, allowing Jason to pound in, and when Dick gasped, he knew he found the right spot. The way he clenched tight around him never failed to make Jason groan. Whispered moans took place instead of his usual cries of pleasure, and Jason didn't know what to make of it. Dick said his name, whispered it against his lips between ragged breaths. He said it breathlessly, like it had a deeper meaning, like it was more than just a name.

The pull and coil in his stomach dived lower, down to his groin, heat and pressure building there. He was close. Dick came with a jolt, a sudden yell; his entire body breaking into spasms as he spilled between them. Jason thrust into him a few times before he followed suit and came, spilling inside of Dick.

In the aftermath, both their bodies trembled as they worked on coming down from their orgasm. Dick always recovered first, and he always pressed himself flush against Jason, never caring about their semen or the sweat collecting between them.

Once in a while, Jason would let his guard down. His fingers tangled in Dick's hair, massaging his scalp, and Dick always leaned into his touch. When he stopped, Dick arched into his hand, silently asking for him to continue. He did.

They spent several minutes in silence, Jason staring at the ceiling, Dick with his eyes closed, pressing into Jason's hands whenever he stopped playing with his hair. Dick had his face tucked into his broad chest and his thigh thrown over his hip.

Little fingers of doubt still touched Jason's heart, telling him he should go. But he wanted this, whatever it was that he had with Grayson, just for a little bit more. He convinced himself that this was okay; staying a little longer was okay. Dick was warm, and pretty damn hot, and he was all over Jason like he wanted him just as badly as Jason wanted him.

Though he fancied himself as someone who could keep his emotions in check, Jason knew it wasn't true. He had a hell of a poker face, but emotions always managed to slip away from him. Bruce could make him slip up and trip. Dick could do the same, he realized. What worried him was that he didn't care as much as he should.

"Jason," Dick whispered, barely audible in the silent room. "Stay the night."

Dick sat up on his elbow and kissed him, lips soft and warm on his, Dick's hand slipping in Jason's hair, taking his sweet time. The kiss was languid, slow and too many things Jason didn't want to think about. It carried a weight behind it, something hidden underneath Dick's soft tongue. "You can spend the night here. I could even give you some pajamas," he said casually, his fingers idly playing with the strands of his hair.

Jason nodded absently, slowly, body still from training. Silence hung heavily between them, but if Dick was anything, he was chatty. "I could even make breakfast in the morning. You can choose between Corn Flakes or Captain Crunch."

Staring at the ceiling, he thought about that one morning when he was maybe fourteen, and Dick had visited. It was one of those rare times that Jason got to hang out with him, and Dick had begged Alfred to let him have cereal for dinner, even when Alfred made his famous pot roast. Most of it was fragmented and fuzzy, like a lot of memories in his head, but he remembered that.

"Sure, I can stay here Dickie," he replied slowly.

Dick broke in a wide smile like Jason had just given him the world or something. His smile was so unguarded, his gaze filled with open warmth and unmistakable happiness. That smile that disguised deeper feelings-feelings Jason didn't want to think about. Feelings Jason tried to convince himself he didn't see, never noticed the way Dick stared at him when he thought Jason wasn't aware.

Dick got up from the couch, and headed to his bedroom to get pajamas for him. He left Jason alone in his living room, their clothes scattered on the ground, along with the discarded TV remote control and a box of half-eaten Lucky Charms. The silence was unnerving, and the thoughts in Jason's head were torturing him. His body welled with tension, cold and unsettling. He had to get away. He can feel it, like his _blood_ is screaming at him to leave.

The quiet stillness of Dick's apartment went unbroken as Jason quickly dressed back into his clothes, hastily pulling on his jacket. His boots didn't even break the silence when he slipped out from the window and fled Dick's apartment.

Jason was already running over the rooftop in front of Dick's apartment when he stopped. He turned, telling himself to take a fleeting glance at Dick, and nothing more. He saw Dick through his window, alone in his spacious loft, the loft looking way too big for just him alone, standing there in the middle of his living room, a bundle of clothes in his arms.

He stayed there, perched on the top of the building, watching Dick. He took a long, hard look at him, remembering Dick's face, his smooth, shaven cheeks, his too bright blue eyes, the intense dark shade of his black hair, his saddened expression at his absence, and Jason closed his eyes. Behind closed lids he could still see his handsome face tainted by grief, his leaden posture, those blue eyes murky from dull pain.

Sorrow coiled in Jason's gut, his fingers itched, and he opened and closed his tight fists, fighting the urge to go back inside, because Dick would undoubtedly take him again as if he had never left, his happiness wouldn't lessen as soon as he saw him again. The warmth from Dick's skin had already begun to fade, leaving him cold.

Dick suddenly looked directly at him. Jason didn't flinch, but he almost did, the look behind Dick's eyes unbearable. There wasn't anger, or even disappointment like Jason had expected, only weariness. It felt wrong, having Dick look at him that way. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and unbelievably numb.

He turned his back on Dick and everything he came with, and left.


End file.
